


I'll Wait For You

by samptra



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF John Watson, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Military, PTSD, Romance, Sherlock Feels, ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samptra/pseuds/samptra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain John Watson got more then he bargained for when he accepted the unusual offer to room with an intriguing man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Wait For You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ffnet, it is my first Sherlock story I wrote before I got drawn into the world of Avengers. It's my own brand of fluff and feels, and badass John. Why? Because I can! So enjoy it has not yet been beta'd so have patience we'll get there.

* * *

_“Ready?” He asked softly into the stillness of the night, the other man shook uncontrollably. He was young green, all piss and vinegar until it came to the sharp end. His young face pale and terrified under his dark face paint, the chubbiness of youth still about his countenance._

_Captain John Watson sighed, feeling every single one of his thirty-four years. He was getting to old, or they where getting to young. “You remember your training and you will be fine,” he said softly eyes panning the dark landscape he could hear the shift of bodies to his right and left. Men under his command._

_It was time._

 

_He gesture to his flank and they crept out over the wall and into the night. Minutes later the battle was upon them and bullets began to fly._

 

Blue eyes opened suddenly, he made no sound as the gunfire rattling around in his head began to quite. Replaced slowly by the sounds of the barracks around him, the noise of men real and alive.

 

They had put him in the officers bachelors quarters, not his favourite place to be. Sitting up he glancing at his watch, dimly reflecting the time, 5 am. He stood stretching, others beginning to rustle to life around him. Military training was hard to break, up at 5 and time to go.

 

“Oi, John you up for a go?” A voice whispered to his left, he turned to look at Captain Ron Heron, grinning. He didn’t need to be in hospital until 7, he had time.

 

“Give you a run for your money mate…” laughing they hurriedly pulled on PT cloths.

 

The run was invigorating, and sparing with Ron had been well worth it. Now showered and dressed, he headed for the base hospital. Not his first choice but after years of service but beggars could not be choosers.

 

“Morning Doctor,” a voice called, a nurse…John hadn’t learned all their names yet. He simply smiled and waved, shrugging out of his jacket and beret he pulled on his lab coat. He moved quietly into the main room,

 

“Morning Linda,” he called to the ward nurse, she returned with a  grin.

 

“You have an easy day of rounds, couple of self-inflected nights out, and a in grown toenail.” Linda watched the new doctor interested despite herself, she may have been past middle age but she wasn’t dead.

 

Doctor John Watson was any women’s dream. The lab coat and fatigues could not conceal the bulge of muscle. She had seem him out running a couple of times, shame he wasn’t all that tall about five nine. Compact, stocky, and Linda would not half mind taking him for a ride.

 

Shaking her head pulled from her little fantasy as the phone rang, she answered eyes never leaving the new doctor bending over a patient. She listened idly to the voice at the other end,  “Ok I’ll let him know…” she hung up glancing over, “Dr. Wilde would like to see you John.”

 

Groaning the man gave Linda a look that spoke volumes, Wilde was the camp physiatrist. “Alright I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

 

John steeled himself as he rode the elevator up to the third floor, he hated it up there. It was where all the severe PTSD cases resided, and John hated everyone of them… because he knew he was a hair’s breath away from being one of them.

 

Taking one last breath he knocked on the office door. “Ahh John,” she looked up from her paperwork.

 

“Morning,” he said taking his usual seat on the couch facing her.

 

“How you feeling?” She began, he shrugged picking lint of his combats, Wilde sighed, “You ever going to open up to me John?” she asked pointedly. They had been playing this game since he’d returned from combat three months ago, and began this mandatory therapy.

 

All returning combat soldiers had too. He had served more tours then he cared to count, the last one though, that last one had made him decided that perhaps it was time to retire from full time service.

 

Truth be told he couldn’t give it up completely, he was a junkie like that. The adventure the excitement, he couldn’t just let it all go. Not that he would speak these thoughts allowed, he wasn’t a pour out your emotions type of guy.

 

She was scribbling in her notes, John already knew how his file read. Career military, been in the service since he joined at 16. An escape from a troubled home life, a family he had never really been close too.

 

The British military had paid his way through medical school, and in turn he’d put down his life for Queen and country.

 

“How does it feel to be a doctor again?” she changed tactics then, or at least tried to.

 

 “I never stopped if I recall,” he returned blandly.

 

She raised an eyebrow at him, “No? You’ve been doing something for the last five years and it hasn’t been medical.” John smiled a little half smile, maybe a little smugly. Wilde had clearance, but not high enough to see those files, what he’d been doing the last five years had never happened. Period. It bugged the hell out of her she had no idea, and he found that perversely amusing.

 

“It’s not bad,” he answered her pervious question.

 

 She crossed her arms sighing, “Have you been seeing anyone? Outside relationships?” It was John’s turn to sigh, she damn well knew he hadn’t been off base. “Look, we’ve been doing this dance a while now. I can’t keep making you come here and I have no grounds to do so. So I’m going to give you a little advice and wish you all the best John. Get out, go meet people do things, and instead of telling people your feelings why not write them down. Post them on the net anonymously, start a blog.”

 

He nodded more to be polite then anything. They shook hands then, and that was it; he left.

 

He walked briskly back to the elevator, she was maybe right, maybe he did need to go out. It would be nice to get back into London. As for writing about himself, he snorted. Now that he was no longer full-time military. Life was utterly dull.

 

-#-#-#-

 

“John!” the jubilant voice called out waving a wild arm, the solider returned the wave. He had called up Matt on a whim asking if he wanted to go for a pint, a mate of his from medical school. Get out of his head a little.

 

 “Matt, good to see you,” they shook hands in a brotherly fashion. Heading into the pub, John listening amused as the other man’s mouth ran a mile of minute.

 

“Yeah a got a job with the corner’s office actually, working with the police it’s pretty interesting get to go to crime scenes and all that.” Same old Matt, never without something to say. He prattled on as they got a drink settling in a booth.

 

“What about you mate? You still full-time?”

 

The blond shook his head, “Nope, still in but part-time bases, thinking about getting back into hospital work…” he mused, more too himself.

 

Matt nodded, “I know a clinic looking for a GP, it’s not glamorous but it’s a job.”

 

They chatted a while longer, John found himself beginning to relax. It was nice having someone talk to him without asking where his head was at. Everyone treated him with kid gloves, that large five year blank spot made everyone wonder about him.

 

Just then a beep sounded, Matt sighed looking at the message “Shit, work calling.”

 

John nodded in understanding, “Thanks for the pint,” he said tipping the rest of his glass back, as Matt stood.

 

The other man paused, “Hey you want to come? My assistant is off tonight I could use another set of medical eyes. You’d be more up on trauma then me.”

 

John was taken aback, a crime scene? The curiosity got the better of him, “Why not?”

 

-#-#-#-

 

Lights flashed, in the wet London night, as the pair approached bright yellow tape quarantining the scene. Matt dressed in his coveralls waved to the constable watching the perimeter.

 

“New assistant?” He called and Matt simply moved them on, John glanced around it was rather exciting to be at a homicide. He followed his friend into the abandoned house, the body on the third floor, forcing them to carry the gurney up. Clattering onto the landing they approached the door, hearing voices on the other side.

 

Annoyed sounding voices.

 

Entering the room John glanced around curiously, a man in a slightly rumpled suit stood flanked by an angry looking man and women. A fourth figure was striding around the body, coat flapping behind him.

 

It was that fourth figure that drew John’s attention.

 

He was tall, slender, and pale, dressed impeccably in an expensive looking suit he had a blue knit scarf twisted artfully around his neck no doubt to ward off the evening chill. Smart man, John wished he’d worn more then jeans, jumper, and rather thin coat. He was still used to the heat of the desert.

 

“Boring Lestrade,” the man spoke, a deep rich timbre to his voice and John found himself listening to without even thinking about it. “She’s a junkie, look at her arm, clearly dumped here in an effort to conceal an accident. Long term user…OD…no family, she’s a street walker, trying to turn her life around.” He paused, “She relapsed no doubt from her pusher fiancé, look at the ring recently taken on and of.”

 

He knelt close a small magnify glass making his eye appear enormous. “She aspirated, he panicked and threw her here, from the mud on her shoes and the other prints in the room men’s size eleven no doubt you’ll find him nearby…still fresh.” He stood with a flourish, looking smug and self satisfied.

 

John was amazed without thinking, he blurted out, “Brilliant.”

 

Suddenly everyone was staring at him, Matt was throwing him an ‘oh you done it now boyo’ look, while three where giving him an ‘who the hell are you’ and the last, was inscrutable.

 

The army doctor found himself suddenly pinned, the recipient of that intelligent, piercing gaze. The unknown man go closer, and John locked in place. He was very good looking, he thought suddenly, dismissing such an silly thought. His hair was black, curly about his head charmingly, he cheekbones defined and artful, he had the face of a model. Those eyes though, they swallowed John up.

 

“Iraq or Afghanistan?” he asked, and John blinked out of his thoughts.

 

“Come again?” he asked.

 

“Iraq or Afghanistan?”

 

“How did-”

 

“Way you hold yourself, military baring, your tan lines at your cuffs and neck, not to mention the dog tags. Recently returned as your tan is still visible, career military your cloths are about three years out of date you’re used to wearing uniform.”

 

He leaned in closer, sniffing, “Living in the barracks, something happened your last tour so you decided it was time to move on, but you’ve been working out of small base hospital…doctor if I’m not mistaken.”

 

John’s jaw wanted to unhinge. Matt shook his head, “Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John Watson.”

 

The crime scene was quickly forgot, boring and dull, but this man…he was intriguing. There was something more, something he couldn’t place. It infuriated him, and compelled him at the same time.

 

“You ‘re looking for a place to live in London, and I need a roommate, 221B Baker Street, tomorrow morning say 8?” He swept out of the room then shoes hurrying down the stair, “Call me when it’s interesting Lestrade”.

 

He was gone in a whirlwind, and John felt as if he’d been struck by a car, “Yeah he does that.” Matt laughed as he handed him gloves.

 

“Word of advice,” the women stopped beside him, “Stay away from the freak.” She was clearly pissed as she stormed out the house. The man in the suit, Lestrade, was on the phone and the other was packing up his equipment.

 

“Sherlock?” he asked Matt as they heaved the women on the gurney, rigor setting in.

 

“Yeah, never seen him take to someone like that though, must like you.”

 

-#-#-#-

 

John had tossed and turned much of the night, for once not from nightmares. It was sharp piercing gray eyes, and that self-satisfied smile that haunted him all through the night.

 

Still he was up early for his workout, more going through the motions as his mind wrestled with itself. Did he go or not? 

 

John argued himself all the way to central London, the cab dropping him off at 221B, located over a small café. “Ahh glad to see you decided to come.” The deep voice spoke behind him, he turned to see a mop of curls hurrying towards him.

 

“Come see…the landlady Mrs. Hudson, will no doubt find you an appropriate roommate.” He hurried in, and up the stair. John followed at a more sedate pace. The main room, probably a living room, was stacked with papers, books, files, and human bones by the look of it. The kitchen off to the side looked more like a laboratory.

 

“Oh hello dear, I’m Mrs. Hudson,” he turned to see a charming older lady smiling at him, “Brought you some tea dears, Sherlock says you’re a doctor.” She set the tray down, “An army doctor,” she smiled looking between them. “Be having a separate room then?”

 

John looked to where the lanky man was sweeping papers off the sofa, settling himself down artfully, before turning back to the sweet older women. “Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson.”

 

 She tittred, “Pleasure to meet you…oh Sherlock you shot the wall again.” She scolded, muttering as she left.

 

“Well it can be fixed up a bit,” the intriguing man gestured around as John sat on a chair nearby, the seat was comfy…as if it had been made just for him. Blue eyes took everything in, “I’m not going to lie I can be a trying roommate,” Sherlock said with a sniff.

 

John finally looked at him, “What is it you do exactly? I would say you where a private detective but...”

 

A dark brow arched, “But?”

 

John settled back in the chair, “But police don’t consult armatures.”

 

Huffing with indignation he stood striding around the room, “No, I am the world’s only consulting detective. I…” John listened amused as he began to explain in great detail what exactly it was he did. He grinned slowly.

 

Suddenly life did not seem all that boring.

 

 


End file.
